


throw the fear

by darkparts



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Asexual Character, Canon Trans Character, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Trans Dadsona (Dream Daddy), just the most self-indulgent fluff you will ever read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 16:11:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11695245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkparts/pseuds/darkparts
Summary: he isblinding,with his easy charm and soft eyes, so bright that sometimes you have to look away because it hurts. it leaves a physical ache in your chest you have come to treasure, a burn you have named his and his alone. you want to keep it there forever, cradle it tenderly and pray to god that the fire never goes out.





	throw the fear

**Author's Note:**

> for bee, with love
> 
> (i wrote damien and dadsona as trans and ace cos as a trans ace person, i wanted to)

The first time he kisses you terrifies you.

It’s gentle, and chaste, and over so quickly your brain mind barely has time to register the overwhelming sense of _oh, shit,_ but it’s still enough to scare you to death.

You’re terrified because as soon as your lips touch, you know this is it. You know you’re already more than halfway in love with this man, this ridiculously kind, beautiful man, and you haven’t felt anything like it since – well, since the first time you kissed Alex.

And Jesus, it’s enough to make you freeze with fear, because though the person you were twenty five years ago believed in a love that lasted forever, in growing old and grey and passing away peacefully and unremarkably in bed surrounded by your grandchildren, the person you are now has lost far too much to buy into that kind of fanciful bullshit.

Because the world is cruel, and _unfair,_ and it takes away good people every day. Finding someone that you know will be branded on your heart forever doesn’t mean that they won’t leave you all alone, whether of their own volition or otherwise.

He pulls away and gazes into your eyes, and you have to fight the instinct to run and hide. You know he can see the truth of you, flayed bare as you are in front of him, just a scared boy who wants so desperately what he could never, ever deserve.

And then he smiles softly. “Do you... Want to... Help me take care of the puppies?”

The question is hesitant, barely more than a murmur and so entirely _Damien_ that it takes your breath away, and all of a sudden you’re not quite so afraid anymore.

“Yes.”

 

He walks you to your door every night, fingers intertwined with yours. The two of you steal glances at the other that leave you red-faced and giggling like teenagers, and when he gives you a quick kiss goodnight, it’s enough to leave you reeling, giddily leaning back against your closed front door as you listen to his footsteps fading away.

This thing you have together makes you feel young again. You can feel it in the warmth that settles in your throat when you kiss, the laughs that spill unbidden, the smile that threatens to split your face in half. You’re both in your forties, for god’s sake, but he’ll do the silliest little things like bow and offer his hand for a dance in a graveyard at some ungodly hour, and you’re suddenly sixteen again, in love with the world for all the love it has gifted you.

Never did you think you could find a love like this, something that leaves you so weightless, an untethered thing in Damien’s arms. He is blinding _,_ with his easy charm and soft eyes, so bright that sometimes you have to look away because it hurts. It leaves a physical ache in your chest you have come to treasure, a burn you have named his and his alone. You want to keep it there forever, cradle it tenderly and pray to god that the fire never goes out.

 

The first time he invites you to spend the night, with an unsure “Would you maybe, uh, like to come inside?” you have no idea what to expect. You’ve both talked about your lack of interest in ‘activities of a carnal nature’, as Damien so delicately says, so at least you don’t have to worry about that _._ But this is all still so new, and you are holding your heart like a fragile bird in your hands, and you’re afraid of messing up, like, _all the time._ You haven’t loved anybody in so long, and never like this, childlike and brilliant and effortless. It could all turn to ash in the blink of an eye and you are terrified. The thought of losing Damien turns your stomach inside-out.

He seems to sense your fear as he takes your hand, pressing a light kiss to your knuckles. “You don’t have to, dearest,” he tells you. “I would simply like to hold you as we sleep.”

You nod after a moment, blushing slightly, because three months in he is still making you blush every single day.

He smiles widely, opening the door and gesturing for you to walk ahead with a slight bow.

You’d been in Damien’s home countless times now, but every time you are still a little taken aback by how safe you feel. Your own house is a too-big, empty thing, cold and still with several unpacked boxes hidden in cupboards.

But here you are surrounded by Damien. You can see him in the art on the walls, the books on the shelves, the flowers in vases adorning surfaces in each and every room. It’s an incredibly comforting feeling.

He leads you up the stairs, hand still clasped firmly in his own. He loves to hold your hand, you’ve noticed, does it whenever possible. Damien is not fond of public affection, but hand-holding he seems to make an exception for.

The two of you get undressed with your backs to each-other after a slightly awkward moment of realising that you needed to take your binders off, and he lends you a shirt to sleep in. You can’t help surreptitiously bringing it to your nose every five minutes, inhaling the lavender scent of Damien’s ridiculously expensive fabric softener. You wonder if you could get away with keeping this shirt.

You slide into bed as he excuses himself to the bathroom, your heart beating wildly in your chest. You hadn’t shared a bed with anyone in years, and you’re hoping that you don’t snore when Damien walks in, wearing a faded Bruce Springsteen shirt that he tugs at nervously. After all this time, he’s still insecure about the non-prince-of-darkness related things that he loves.

“Get over here,” you say, and he grins.

He slips under the covers and his hand quickly finds yours. You inch closer, bring your head to rest just under his chin.

“Is this okay?” You ask him.

“Always,” he whispers, dropping a reverent kiss on your forehead. You close your eyes.  
  
In the morning, he will greet you, still sleepy-soft, with a ‘Good morning, darling,’ and a gentle kiss that will make your toes curl. You will bicker teasingly over who should make breakfast, and then compromise and make it together with just two hands between you while the others are interlocked. He will read to you in the library while you lay with your head in his lap, his hand absentmindedly carding through your hair. You will smile up at him, and know you are home.

For now, you fall asleep, in love and unafraid.


End file.
